


Operation Iron Snuggle

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: дезинформация [19]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Has a Crush, Cookies Fix Everything, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky was having a hard time deciding whether or not he actually had a problem on his hands. Tony didn't exactly have a reputation for being a good patient (<em>he knew this all too well from first hand experience</em>) so his compliance with Bruce's orders seemed suspicious at best.</p><p>Takes place after "Until."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Iron Snuggle

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon. on tumblr who said, "I really like the idea of Bucky/Tony/Nat, idk why, but the idea of them snuggling & talking in Russian in order to have private conversations gives me warm fuzzies. Sadly there are no fanfics. Also overprotective assassin Russians, + hurt Tony"

Bucky was having a hard time deciding whether or not he actually had a problem on his hands. Tony didn't exactly have a reputation for being a good patient ( _he knew this all too well from first hand experience_ ) so his compliance with Bruce's orders seemed suspicious at best. 

He'd stayed in bed the entire day before, only getting up ( _with assistance, as instructed_ ) to use the bathroom. He'd allowed Bucky to bring him food, had eaten it, then sank back down against the pillows and stayed put. All day. All through the night, even. No attempts to sneak off to the lab or the workshop, no working by proxy through JARVIS, no, “I’m just catching up!” excuses while he dove headfirst into backlogged Stark Industries business. 

He'd just _followed Bruce's orders_. 

Bucky had been suspicious enough the first day, assuming he was being lulled into a false sense of security, but now he’d moved directly onto being concerned. Tony never followed doctor's orders as a matter of pride. He was almost physically incapable of staying still, or taking it easy, and the man was stubborn enough to give Steve a run for his money.

"It’s weird" he said, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s _actually_ taking it easy.”

"Seriously?" Clint pulled a face. "Come on, it's Tony—this _has_ to be a trick. Remember when the Fucktastic Four gave us all that Doom-modified flu virus? The dude was running a fever of 104, puking his guts up like the rest of us, but does he drink fluids and rest? No, not even close!"

"I know. He built that nightmarish robot to clean up the vomit," Bucky agreed with a shiver, dread washing over him as behind his closed eyes he saw the hoses whipping around, heard the disembodied artificial voice, calling to them...

"We don't talk about that," Natasha reminded them sharply. “Ever.” Bucky sighed, glad to have his thoughts interrupted.

Clint winced apologetically, shuddering. "Sorry. But my point stands! I bet if we had JARVIS tell us what he's up to right now, Tony'll have at least two StarkPads in the bed with him, and, like, three or four new prototypes he's working on."

Bucky worried at his lower lip. "How 'bout it, J?"

"I'm afraid that is not the case, sir." Even the A.I. sounded concerned. "I've been instructed to divert any outstanding R&D requests to Mr. Parker. Additionally, Mrs. Potts-Hogan has cleared sir's calendar for the foreseeable future."

Clint, Natasha, and Bucky exchanged worried glances. "So what's he doing?"

There was a long, uncomfortable sounding pause, but JARVIS eventually answered, "He appears to be resting."

"Sleeping?" Bucky asked hopefully. 

"Sir is awake, merely lying in bed."

"Okay, that's terrifying," Clint announced. "What the fuck? Are we sure there wasn't a body swap?"

Bucky felt his stomach clench painfully. "No, it's him. J, get me Bruce on the line."

After a short wait, they were connected. "Everything okay?"

"Tony is behaving," Bucky blurted.

"Is he dying?" Clint asked, followed by, "Ow!" a second later when Natasha cracked him upside the head. "What? Not telling anyone he's dying is sort of his standard operating procedure."

You could almost hear Bruce removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose over the speakerphone. "He's not dying, he's just... hurt. And, oh, I don't know.”

“Bruce,” Natasha said, obviously sensing there was more.

“Maybe he's feeling his age a bit?"

That made Bucky feel a _little_ bit better at least. He'd been just as concerned as Clint that there were complications Tony had neglected to mention. Knowing there was nothing seriously physically wrong was reassuring, but that didn’t alleviate his concerns any. Historically speaking, Tony’s psychological wounds were far more damaging than the physical ones had ever been.

"Thanks, Bruce."

“I’m, uh, sort of in the middle of things, but I can wrap it up if you need me?” It was clear from Bruce’s hesitation that this wasn’t ideal, but that he was more than willing to backburner his work if it would help Tony.

“No, we’ve got this,” Natasha answered before Bucky could say anything.

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, Bucky thinking of how quiet Tony had been, the way he'd just let Bucky fuss over him without any protest. Almost like he’d given up. It just wasn't right seeing Tony look so defeated. 

In fact, just before heading down, he'd offered to help Tony to the common area, thinking company might be good for him, but he'd opted to stay in bed instead with a soft assurance of, "I'm fine here. Go see how the others are doing."

Bucky sighed, and got back to work assembling sandwiches to take upstairs, wondering how he should go about getting Tony out of his funk.

"We'll need cookies," Natasha pointed out. 

"On it," Clint said, snapping off a salute.

Bucky opened his mouth to ask what she was talking about, but Natasha arched an eyebrow at him, and he kept quiet.

"Make some popcorn, too," she instructed, and began working her fingers through her hair, mussing it up. "I'll be back in five."

"Will do.” Clint had a bag of popcorn in the microwave before Bucky had time to blink. “What do you think, Buck, _Die Hard_?"

"How about something without terrorists taking hostages, and people falling off of buildings to their death?" Bucky suggested. “Actually, avoiding violence in general would be good.”

Clint winced. "Right, okay. Executive decision: we're going all in with romantic comedies. Yo, JARVIS,” Clint called, his face scrunched up almost adorably with determination as he flitted about the kitchen, gathering ingredients for his cookies, “you’re now officially part of Operation Iron Snuggle.”

There was a weighty pause before JARVIS answered, “As a non-physical entity, I find myself curious as to how, precisely, I am meant to participate in said operation.”

Clint rolled his eyes and shot a look Bucky’s direction as if to say, “Can you believe this guy?”

“By queuing up my ‘Had a Colossally Bad Day’ playlist, for a start,” Clint explained, whipping a bag of chocolate chunks at Bucky’s face. “You’re on hot chocolate patrol, Barnes. Maybe mix a little coffee in there, too. We all know how much the hubby loves his coffee.”

Bucky bit into his lower lip in an attempt to stop himself from grinning like a goon. He knew it was silly, but things were new enough that he still got an immense thrill whenever someone referred to Tony as his husband. 

“On it,” Bucky answered, then jumped in surprise when he realized Natasha had returned.

She had changed into comfortably beat up looking clothing, including an oversized, soft looking, dark grey shirt, and sleep pants covered with little cupids. Her hair was messier than it’d been when she’d left, the makeup removed, and as a result he could now see the areas of her face that had been bruised in the battle the day before. The wardrobe change also meant that her bandaged wrist was now visible, as were various other scrapes and bruises.

“I’ll head up first,” she announced, grabbing the tray of sandwiches and the popcorn.

Bucky watched her go, impressed with how well Natasha knew Tony. If she’d just shown up to try to keep him company she’d have met resistance, but looking the way she did now there was no way Tony would be able to shut her out.

In fact, by the time he and Clint arrived with cookies and hot chocolate, the two were already watching what looked to be a Sandra Bullock romantic comedy together, Natasha curled up on the bed beside Tony, who was halfheartedly eating one of the sandwiches.

The smile he received upon arriving was ( _almost surprisingly_ ) relieved, tight around the edges, as if Bucky had been gone for hours. Combined with the dark circles under his eyes, the bruises, and the stitched up gash on his forehead, it made for a rather pathetic sight. It didn’t help that Tony’s broken leg was stretched out in front of him, propped up on a pillow. At least the cast now sported a get well message from Natasha in flowery cyrillic script.

“You started without me?” Clint whined, throwing a cookie. Natasha caught it ( _of course_ ), and arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t get crumbs in their bed,” she scolded, adding, “and you’ve seen this enough times to have the dialogue memorized.”

Bucky distributed the hot chocolate before sliding into place on Tony’s left, dropping a kiss on the top of his head as he did so. Almost immediately, Tony slouched closer, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“You brought reinforcements?” he asked softly, side eyeing Clint.

“ _Family_ , dingbat,” Clint answered around his mouthful of food. 

Instead of executing a typical Clint flop maneuver, he carefully settled onto the bed, also on Tony’s right side. Instead of sitting next to Natasha as Bucky had expected, he positioned himself closer to the foot of the bed, half sprawled next to Tony’s legs, and began sipping loudly at his hot chocolate.

Bucky waited, almost expecting Tony to protest, make a little fussy scene and kick them all out of the bedroom, but instead he looked suspiciously touched. “Gimme a cookie, then.” 

Clint extended the tray of cookies in Tony’s direction allowing him to help himself, eyes never leaving the screen.

Tony chewed petulantly, but his eyes widened in appreciation as soon as he took a sip of the hot chocolate. "Normally, I'd object to messing with the perfection that is coffee, but this is amazing."

He gave Bucky a smile that looked a little less pathetic, and took another big sip. 

Later, if someone had asked Bucky what the first movie was about, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. ( _Something involving guns and pageantry?_ ) He was too busy paying attention to his Antoshka, watching the careful way he moved, the tightness around his eyes, and jaw. He was too absorbed with studying the various scrapes and bruises, which looked somehow worse now that they were healing up.

It was always difficult, being reminded how fragile ( _Tony would kick him in the shin for using that word_ ) he was compared to him, or Steve, or Hulk, or Thor. None of them were truly safe—things just didn’t work out that way for them—but that didn’t make it any easier.

Once he’d finished eating, he couldn’t help himself, had to wrap his arm around Tony’s shoulders, and was relieved when Tony snuggled up against him, wriggling around until he was comfortable. Bucky felt some of the tension leave Tony’s body as he settled in, and was glad of it, buried his nose in Tony’s hair and just breathed in his scent.

More surprising still, Tony didn’t complain in the least when Natasha shifted closer, passing pillows forward so Clint could sprawl more comfortably in front of her. She helped herself to Tony’s right hand, interlacing their fingers, even as she draped a leg over Clint’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her leg, and opted to use Tony’s own uninjured leg as an armrest, fingers curling around a calf.

For a couple of minutes, everyone seemed to be waiting for Tony to suddenly realize he was in the middle of being snuggled by a pile of assassins and freak out, but when that didn’t happen, everyone ( _Tony included_ ) relaxed, and if anything, shifted even closer to each other.

“I feel like Pepper tried to make me watch this once,” Tony said after the second Sandra Bullock movie began.

“I’d take you over Hugh Grant any day.” Clint shoved another cookie into his mouth before adding, “Take the pain meds. At least for a couple days.”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, feeling like an idiot. He’d been giving Tony everything Bruce had prescribed, but he hadn’t actually _watched_ him take the pills. It explained the controlled, unnatural silence, the careful way Tony had been holding himself. He should have known.

Still curled against him, Tony sighed, retrieved his hand from Natasha in order to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Sobriety, ah… It’s not always easy for me. Kinda sucks, actually, but it’s better than the other option.” He cleared his throat. “I can manage without.”

Without saying anything, Natasha took custody of Tony’s hand again, this time jamming her thumb into a spot on his palm hard enough that Bucky winced in sympathy. Tony let out a little groan of pure pleasure that sounded especially obscene to Bucky, considering the circumstances under which he normally heard those sorts of noises.

“What the everloving fuck, Nat?” Tony gasped, sounding more like himself than he had since he’d been injured.

“Pain can be your ally,” she explained, smiling sweetly. “Pills just dull the senses.”

“Which gets your ass killed,” Clint added in a singsong way that made Bucky suspect they’d had this conversation many, many times.

Tony made another little noise, and squirmed a bit, his hair tickling Bucky’s nose. “I love you so much right now,” he said all in a rush. “James— _oh_ —take notes.”

Clint sniggered, but Natasha gave him a little smack upside the back of his head before he could make any lewd comments about the many other ways in which Bucky could potentially distract Tony from his pain.

For his part, Bucky whispered a soothing little stream of consciousness in Russian into Tony’s ear, little declarations of love, and appreciation, and increasingly ridiculous terms of endearment, until Tony was actually laughing. 

“My little iron _hedgehog_?”

Bucky grinned. “What, too much?”

“Your hair _is_ pretty crazy right now,” Clint pointed out.

Tony made a little noise of protest, but let it go, opting instead to snatch up Bucky’s left hand with his own, clinking their rings together ( _tink, tink, tink_ ), a habit he’d developed since they’d exchanged them. It always reminded Bucky of the way he tended to tap against the arc reactor, and he kind of ( _definitely_ ) loved when Tony did it.

Clint held up his hand, and without asking, Natasha handed him the marker she’d used to sign Tony’s cast. Clint got to work, scribbling away, until what Bucky assumed was meant to be an iron hedgehog was in place, posing dramatically. A little archer was beside him, yanking out a quill in order to use it as an arrow. The caption ( _Bucky’s little Iron Hedgehog and his trusty friend, Handsome Hawkeye_ ) was printed beneath in tidy cyrillic, keeping with the theme.

“We should have Steve draw little versions of all of us on there,” Bucky suggested.

“Not sure I can handle wearing a mini-Coulson,” Tony said, but he was smiling.

Clint laughed, and popped the cap back off of the marker, adding to his drawing with what looked to be a tiny Coulson with hearts in his eyes, hands clasped and mouth hanging open comically as he admired the Handsome Hawkeye. “And perfect!”

Tony retrieved his hands from Natasha and Bucky, shifted and wriggled until he pulled his phone out from under his pillows, and snapped off a photo. “ _Now_ it’s perfect,” he declared, sending the photo off to Phil with a flourish.

Bucky and Natasha exchanged glances; Tony acting up with a bit of technology in his hands was much preferred to a quiet, behaving Tony Stark.

“Please, he knows he wants me,” Clint said with forced nonchalance. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, and passed the bowl around so the others could help themselves.

Tony fiddled some more with his phone. “Ask him out to dinner already.” 

No one commented on the fact that the tips of Clint’s ears had turned suspiciously pink. “That’s not how I woo.”

“ _Okay_ , then drop out of the vents and into his bed naked.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Clint protested, “and totally not my fault. Or, erm, intention. Thor’s Asgardian mead should be illegal.”

Tony just chuckled, and ruffled Clint's hair before settling back down to watch the movie. They all snacked in comfortable silence, until Tony cleared his throat and said, "thanks," sounding almost shy.

"Family," Natasha said by way of an answer, and rested her head against Tony's shoulder. 

"Right on," Clint added, and began adding miniature versions of Natasha and Bucky to his drawing.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took forever!! I've had crazy life things happening, but I'm hoping to actually be able to write with more frequency again, but, we'll see... 
> 
> Meanwhile, oops, they got married! And Clint has a crush on Coulson (I mean, I can't help myself, they're too good together). And how can anyone resist snuggly assassins?! 
> 
> Anywho, I've missed you all. *squish* Happy New Year!


End file.
